


curling up behind the house

by the_ocean_weekender



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst?, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maybe a panic attack, Romance, Series 2, Slightly - Freeform, Though I don't think it's that graphic or detailed, Year That Never Was, be careful, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ocean_weekender/pseuds/the_ocean_weekender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto stays late now; firstly to keep an eye on Jack, secondly in the hope he’ll work up the courage to kiss him… he’s feeling less and less guilty about the second reason as the night goes on.</p>
<p>Title from Thirsty by The National</p>
            </blockquote>





	curling up behind the house

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexandria (heartfullofelves)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/gifts).



> Yeah, maybe I wrote a panic attack? I don't know I thought it was more of a flashback but I suppose it could be seen as a panic attack.  
> Just be careful ok? If you don't want to risk it, skip the next few lines after 'If not… well, there’s a bottle of whiskey at home he’s been saving for a rainy day.'  
> Also one mention of whiskey. Just in case.

Blue eyes meet blue from across the hub and Ianto feels his breath catch in his throat. Everyone else has gone home, either to a so-called normal life or whatever gets them through the night.

They could, _he_ could, if only he could work up the courage to do it…

Could, Ianto reflects, is just as scary a word as almost- maybes and what-ifs running rife round his brain. Or maybe it’s scary only because he knows he’s a coward. Though in his defence, Jack was the one who asked him out on a date for dinner and a movie- clichéd though it is- and it’s been nearly two weeks and he still hasn’t delivered. The aliens that have been coming through the rift and attacking Cardiff haven’t been very accommodating for a date but _still._

A mention of it would have been nice, that’s all he was saying.

Jack saunters over with that cocky American walk of his and Ianto has to bite his lip to hold back his desperation. “Ask me out now!” he screams mentally. “Ask me if I want to sleep with you, ask me to join you in the shower, ask me _something_!”

But he keeps silent, because deep down he’s a coward and at 26 he’s too old to lie to himself any more. Lying won’t change a thing, however much it might make things easier at the time. Ianto blinks and Jack is _much_ closer now-so close that he can smell the tantalising pheromones.  Christ he’s missed this, missed Jack and his smile of a bastard, his constant flirting and smiling. And if sometimes the elder looks tired or flinches at little things he never did before, well Ianto doesn’t see any reason to bring it up.

“Can I get you some more coffee, sir?” he asks instead, turning towards the kitchen.

“Jack,” he corrects automatically and Ianto can’t see the harm in it.

“Can I get some more coffee, Jack?” the Welshman repeats and smiling back when Jack does.

He says no, and Ianto uses it as an excuse to run away as his courage dissipates into thin air.

 

~0~

 

 Maybe finding refuge in the archives is a bad sign for a person, Ianto reflects as he catalogues the umpteenth alien artefact.

But he says that as he’s working for Torchwood, where the mean age of employees is 25.2 and their average age of death is 33.6. For a person, Torchwood itself is a bad sign; employee or merely a civilian caught in the crossfire.

Jack is the exception, of course.

Thinking of Jack, Ianto supposes he isn’t really doing his job. Gwen, Tosh and Owen had voted (read: ganged up) on him being the one to keep an eye on Jack late after everyone else is gone. The archives aren’t really conducive to the task, but he decides he can check on his boss just before he leaves.

When he _maybe_ has enough courage to take their relationship a step further.

 

~0~

 

One hour later and Ianto is too tired to carry on sorting through whatever alien artefacts need to be sorted; everything is going a bit fuzzy in his periphery vision and the tiniest noises are making him jump and flinch.

It’s when he realises he’s actually at the F-G section, filing away a 43rd century version of monopoly that is meant to go in the Z section (according to Jack, who could only just pronounce the name himself, in a language that was built around facial expressions- the Welshman had had a bitch of a time figuring out where to put it) that he thinks ‘sod it’. He’s going to go upstairs, make himself some coffee so he can survive the drive back to his flat and then if he sees Jack he’s going to kiss him and demand to know if he plans to make good on his promise of dinner and a movie.

If not… well, there’s a bottle of whiskey at home he’s been saving for a rainy day.

 

~0~

 

There’s pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, only pain and then some more, just the burn of flesh and the screaming that it causes and then the extra pain, dragging over the broken glass and he can’t _breathe_ , Jesus Christ he can’t breathe…

The Master is somewhere and laughing and something smashes and sounds too pretty for the hell hole that is the _Valiant_ and Jesus Christ he needs to _breathe_ …..

Jack gasps and whirls round, he’s in the kitchen, he’s dropped his mug he brought with him on the search for some coffee, and he’s _safe, safe¸_ he tells himself. But he doesn’t feels it, he _doesn’t_. Things have changed, the team doesn’t need him, at all- broken or put together- they don’t need him, they’ve proved they can survive on their own and it’s good to know but it _hurts_.

It hurts and it’s scary and he can almost hear the Master laughing, so Jack does what he does best: he runs, to his bunker and the dark.

If the Tardis even was here, he wouldn’t go, he promises himself. Because the Doctor doesn’t need and/or want him either, he’s _wrong_ like that. Wrong in the way he’s been too much of a coward to ask Ianto about a date and let them stay just friends.

And he shouldn’t run away, but it’s what Jack does best.

 

~0~

 

If there was an alien in the hub, Ianto was fucked.

Jack was nowhere to be seen, his gun was still in his car, and there were signs of a possible struggle in the kitchen- Jack’s mug smashed on the floor and drips of blood, the drawers pulled out and their contents rummaged through.

There’s probably a logical explanation, Ianto tries to tell himself as he quickly checks the hub before heading up to Jack’s office, fear pooling in his gut.

“Jack?” he calls softly, feeling even more worried when there’s no answer. He probably just dropped his mug, Ianto reasons mentally, just dropped his mug and ended up cutting his finger when he tried to pick up the pieces. He was getting more coffee and couldn’t find a plaster in the drawers, so he went to get one.

But Ianto’s _scared_ , the deep uncomfy scared that he got every time he went down to check up on Lisa or tried to see what his parents had gotten him for Christmas. He’s scared right now, because as much as they all ignore it: Jack hasn’t been right since he got back. Refusing to tell anyone where he went or what happened they expect from their boss- he practically _lives_ on secrets and pretending. Flinching at loud noises and people touching him without warning and looking a bit thinner is a new thing and none of them know what to do about it.

 

~0~

 

“Jack?” Ianto’s voice is soft and silky like a blanket and it snaps Jack out of his reverie in the dark of his bunker. He forgot Ianto was still there, just another side effect of the year that never was. “Jack, are you there?”

He should have gone somewhere else, where no one could find him. But if anyone had to find him like this, Jack is glad it’s Ianto. “Hi, Ianto,” he replies, softly and gently into the dark. The light in his office is still on, and he can see Ianto’s figure carefully climbing down the ladder and come warily closer.

“Your mug was smashed in the kitchen,” the Welshman says by way of explanation. “There was blood on the floor.”

“Yeah, I… I dropped my mug earlier,” Jack replies. “Sorry, I was going to clean it up, but…” only he can’t answer and trails off because how can he explain _that_.

“But _what_ , Jack?” Ianto gingerly sits next to him on the bed, tries his best to ignore the overwhelming feelings of want and desire that come with it because Jack needs him right now. “You haven’t been alright ever since you got back from your trip with the Doctor.”

“I know,” Jack can’t deny it- he _has_. “Shit, Ianto, I’m sorry.”

Ianto doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jack quite this vulnerable before, including when he was dead for three days. “It’s ok,” he says instead, hoping he isn’t lying right now. He moves closer and takes Jacks hand in his, links their fingers together, “It’s ok.”

Jack looks up at him, barely even meeting his eyes and then – Oh, _oh¸_ Ianto isn’t quite sure how they got from comforting hand holding to kissing but he’s not going to stop and ask.

He kisses back and it’s gentle and soft and chaste and just completely and utterly what he hoped kissing his boss would be like. Eventually though, they have to break apart.

“Sorry,” Jack shrugs sheepishly. “I was meant to ask you to dinner first.”

“I’m not complaining,” Ianto is still just a bit giddy. Jack huffs out a laugh and looks down. All of a sudden that vulnerable look is back and Ianto tightens his grip. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Eventually,” which isn’t very positive but Ianto knows it’s more honest than what the rest of the team would get.

“The rift is supposed to be quiet for the rest of the week,” Jack says and Ianto hurriedly snaps back out of his happy place. “So if it stays quiet, we could go on that date. I was thinking tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Ianto grins. “I’d like that.”

 


End file.
